


Soft Skin

by Zarla



Category: Phoenix Wright
Genre: Abuse, M/M, Violence, emotional torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-06-27
Updated: 2007-06-27
Packaged: 2017-10-06 04:27:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/49670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zarla/pseuds/Zarla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>God, he loved hurting him. He just made it so <i>easy</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Soft Skin

**Author's Note:**

> Matt is 100% psycho possessive sociopath in this, as a warning. Fairly disjointed again, in a weird way.  
> Sister fic to [this](http://archiveofourown.org/works/49669) in a way.

He hurt him. That was all he did, and all he wanted to do, and someday when Corrida was in his grave, Matt wanted nothing more than his last memory to be of Matt hurting him.

Deeper, harder, in as many ways as he could think, as long as they were in contact, as long as they were both alive. Add insult to injury, rub salt in the wounds, constant fighting and the knowledge, almost intoxicating, that someday he'd be responsible for Corrida's death. That was something he was sure of, something that he simply could not relinquish to chance. He would kill Corrida someday, under circumstances carefully arranged so as to damage him most before he shuffled pathetically off this mortal coil.

He hurt him, and the pain he could see and feel, the anger he inspired was his reward. To see Juan rage against him, see the hate and anger burn behind his eyes, to provoke him into action because he'd wounded his pride, his body, his reputation, something to make him dance at the end of his string. An amusing toy, and Juan took things so personally. The pain and misery he caused were things that Matt treasured, remembered fondly when he was alone. He ran over the memories before he went to sleep, plotted out his next attack when he had a spare moment.

Torturing him was just so enjoyable, in so many ways. There was such a thrill to it, to hurting someone else so thoroughly, to control them so obviously, to have so much power over them.

Matt loved hurting him, loved doing everything he could to hurt him. Everything he did, he did to hurt him. Every chance Juan had at happiness, Matt took away. He snatched out roles and time-slots and publicity stunts, meddled in his personal affairs, ruined everything he could and rubbed it in his face.

One of his finest moments was destroying Celeste. Juan had foolishly thought he could get away from him, that he could find some kind of happiness but Matt had put a stop to that quickly enough. It was almost poetic, divinely guided that Juan would choose an ex-lover of Matt's, that this new way to rip him apart had presented itself so openly, so eagerly, so _easily_. Almost as if somewhere, subconsciously, Juan _wanted_ this to happen, and if not Juan, _something_ wanted Matt to be able to do this, to wound him so deeply and it took so little effort, it was just so _easy_.

He still had the pictures from when Juan had announced the engagement, happy and beaming with Celeste at his side, and Matt kept them so he could laugh at him. Laugh at his smiling face, so rarely seen now; laugh at how stupid he must have been to think that he could ever escape. To think that he had something that Matt could not take away, that Matt wouldn't crush his dreams into the dust, that he could ever be happy, not with Matt still alive. Matt would never allow him that, allow him to forget, to move on because there was no way he could give up the thrill of tormenting him, of rubbing salt into ever-present wounds because Juan made such a good plaything, and he danced so well at the end of his strings if you just knew how to make him start.

Matt had intended to simply break their engagement, but when Celeste took her own life, Matt couldn't believe his luck. He could hardly think of any more painful way for things to go. If Juan had been a normal person he would have blamed himself, but he knew that he blamed Matt, which was a shame. Perfection would have had Juan take responsibility and spiral into his own self-destruction, trying to follow her like that idiot Adrian, but Matt contented himself with Juan's fury, raging and hot. The anger, how he shivered when he lashed out at him, how red his eyes were and he knew that Juan had been crying, the weakling. How perfect was that, he'd made the puppet cry and it had all been his doing.

Endless agony, constant torture, relentless tormenting and still Juan did not give up, did not try and get away. Not that Matt would have let him leave, and the fact that he didn't even try was so satisfying. Still trying to exact some kind of revenge, trying to find some way to hurt Matt in kind. Stupid man. Someday he'd grow tired of him and finally finish him off for good, when he'd taken everything possible from him, but for now he kept him dancing, kept his anger high to watch him rage uselessly at something so far above him, to fight against something out of his control.

He never learned, he never stopped and that's why he was where he was now. Juan started things he couldn't finish, and Matt was quite willing to finish them when it came down to it. Juan told him to stop, ordered him to stop, fought to try and get him to stop but Matt won, he always won. He could see the pain in Juan's eyes, the furious helpless anger as Matt refused him, kept him pinned while he thrust into him, the demands for him to stop that slowly became pleas as Matt continued to ignore him, savoring the pain in each word Juan managed to gasp out.

It was so easy to hurt him, so easy to find ways. To cut him deeply so he'd never heal, and in a way Juan was nothing but scars, wounds that Matt knew how to open as he saw fit.

Juan again asked him to stop, told him to get off, tried to break his hold and get away from him, and Matt laughed at him, laughed at how futile the whole exercise was. Juan growled, struggled, called him some meaningless names and Matt kept laughing, unable to stop because suddenly he knew how to get to the heart of it, all of a sudden he knew how to cut him to his core.

"Imagine if Celeste could see you now," Matt said between breathless gasps and he laughed again, and he could almost feel the shudder through Juan's body at the words, the almost physical representation of his heart breaking at the thought.

"No-..." Juan's voice was choked, anguished and his face twisted. Awakened all the memories, everything that had happened, everything he'd done and lost, all that Matt had taken away from him and where he was now, helpless and broken and the disappointment she must have felt, he knew, the hatred she must have felt for him to take her life so quickly. The stupid woman thought she'd hurt them both, but Matt didn't care. Juan, bleeding heart that he was, cared because he was a fool and he _loved_ her of all things, and he made it so easy to hurt him. He could see him trying to fight off the memories, the self-doubt, what Matt's words meant, trying to ignore the pain and bleeding and tearing.

"She'd be so disappointed in you, here in my arms..." Matt pulled Juan close despite his attempts to get away, ignored how he clawed at his arms and fought to push him off, back to chest and he listened to Juan's breath hitching and catching because he could feel the agony working its way through, the emotional torture that was just begging, just waiting to show physically, just waiting for that moment, that sublime, perfect moment when Matt destroyed him completely, crushed his spirit and raped him of everything, everything he'd ever had.

Juan made a despairing sound, something that might have been a word, torn from a throat already worn out and Matt held him close, the two of them pressed together and joined together, Matt laughing quietly to himself as he kept his rhythm, kept reminding him, and he could feel Juan's breath catch again and he took hold of Juan's throat, leaning his head back.

"It was your fault, you know," Matt breathed, slowly so that each syllable was clear, the meaning inescapable. Just what he thought would be enough to send him over the edge. Juan's head rested against his shoulder, he took a sharp breath that rasped slightly and reached out to try and push Matt's hands away, scratched across the inside of Matt's arms, and when he breathed in again he could hear it, his vocal cords constricting and forcing a whine from his throat. Intentional or not he wasn't sure, but Matt sighed at the sound and then, then, finally, he felt a small dot of warmth fall on his collarbone.

He'd done it, left him nothing more than a hollow wrecked shell, and he could feel the anger, frustration and despair coming off him in waves as despite everything, he was sure, despite all his best efforts Juan had begun to cry. Matt held him tighter so he couldn't escape, he'd never escape, and he traced his tongue along Juan's cheek, followed the trail of the first tear.

Juan shuddered, helpless, hopeless, and there was nothing better than this, there was nothing that tasted better than this, that felt better than this. Knowing that he'd finally shattered him into a thousand pieces. There was nothing as satisfying, as addictive as hurting him, and he made it so easy.

God, he made it so easy.


End file.
